The Invisible Girl
by luckyricochet
Summary: "Few who knew him then are prepared to talk about him." - Albus Dumbledore. Tom Riddle wasn't always alone. Evelyn Spencer grows up alongside him, first at Wool's Orphanage and then at Hogwarts. Although both children are orphans, they are not the same in any other way: he is entranced by magic; she wary of it. But somehow they become friends.
1. Part I: Chapter 1 - Brightness

**PART I**

**Chapter 1 - Brightness**

...

A chirping of birds outside my window stirred me. Through the thin curtain, sunlight was slanting into the room. The sound of light footsteps was absent from in the hall. No other children must have been awake.

I sat up, groggy and rubbing my eyes. For a while I sat on the bed, my blankets wrapped around me. It was a clear August morning. The only sounds I could hear were those singing birds and the ticking of the wall clock. I stretched, discarded my blanket, and made for my water basin that was across the room under a small mirror. The splash of the cold water was a relieving shock, and I blinked the drops out of my eyes.

Summers at the orphanage were always bland. There was no routine to any day, no school to attend. If Mrs. Cole ever got around to planning anything (she was always so busy, poor woman), such events were sporadic and in-between at best. Other then going down to the dining hall three times a day, there was no set structure to what orphans were to do with their day. Sometimes they went into London with a chaperone, but most milled about in Wool's, waiting for that blessed day for when they would be taken away to a family.

I dressed, combed my hair, and left my room to the lavatory at the other end of the hall that all the orphans on the third floor shared. Amy Benson was there at the sink, staring into the mirror. "Good morning, Amy," I said. She caught sight of my reflection and spun around. Her mouth was a tight line, and without a word, she bolted from the room. She never replied to me anymore, or anyone for that matter. A few years ago we'd gone to the seaside and when we came back, she had stopped speaking to anyone. Dennis Bishop too, one of her friends. I brushed my teeth and went to leave for breakfast when I bumped into someone coming down the hall.

"Watch where you're going, Evelyn!" a voice said.

I looked up, my thoughts scattering. Alice, already a pretty child at thirteen, glared down at me over her narrow nose."You're so stupid. No wonder your parents dumped you here."

I wanted to remind her that her parents had technically done the same. Alice was the most bitter of all the orphans, even though she was by no means the one who had been here the longest. "Leave me alone," I mumbled.

"Aw, did I hurt the widdle girl's feelings?" Alice simpered, leaning down to look me in the eye with her own green ones. Her face turned ugly with a scowl. I stepped back, hating her. "Fix up your hair before you go down to breakfast," she snapped. "No one is ever going to want you if you look like that." She tossed her ebony black curls and continued walking down the hall, banging on the doors to wake the other orphans up.

I was seething. I stared after her, boiling on the inside, restraining every fiber in my being to not run after her and shout in her face.

Right as she passed the door across mine, I saw the light on the wall fizzle. It took only a second to register what was happening.

The lamp burst apart with a flash. I started, but kept my stance, staring. Alice had screamed, crouched down on the floor. The hall was now dark, but nothing was lost on Alice. She scrambled up and felt her face. She gasped, and as she flew down the hall back to her room, I caught sight of a red mark about the size of a thumbprint on her temple. The bulb must have burned her when the lamp broke.

I stumbled to the wall and leaned against it, shaking. I looked around myself. Broken pieces of glass were scattered on the scarred wooden floor boards. The remnants of the fixture still attached to the wall were jagged, a few of the wires still burning red and dimming to black even as I watched them.

Amid the ruckus, one of the doors opened, the door across from my own room. Tom Riddle appeared, looking as bored and sullen as usual, unfazed by the commotion. I stiffened at the sight of him. He glanced around at the pieces of broken lamp and then slowly to me.

"Did you do this?" he asked.

"How could I have done that?" I demanded.

He didn't answer, but instead looked at something behind me. Alice had patched herself messily, a bit of rouge smeared awkwardly over her burn. Instead of making a a beeline for us, as I expected her to do, she instead fled down the steps. I now stood at the end of the hall with Tom. Suddenly feeling awkward, I dismissed myself and followed suit downstairs.

Breakfast was a somber affair. Alice, fussy after the incident, sulked at her table place, ignoring even those who she relished in abusing. I ate my eggs and toast alone, keeping my eyes glued to the plate and letting a few strands of my blonde hair cover my face. The orphanage advisors walked among the tables, making conversation with some of the children occasionally. I wasn't sure if it was the fact that we were all despondent about being orphans, or it was the old building, but everything about Wool's carried with it some sort of loneliness. We were all just grays and smears in this London city, which was so vibrant and full compared to us. The orphanage workers were all kind women who tried to keep us happy, but many of them were there for local charity, dispatched here by their church, staying for a few months only and then leaving when they had done their service. Mrs. Cole, Martha, and a few others were the only permanent ones.

Presently Tom entered the dining hall. He took up a serving of food and chose an empty table to sit at. Just as well: In the eleven years that I had been at Wool's, I had never seen Tom ever eat with anyone willingly, nor had I seen anyone join him willingly. I might have worried that he was bullied, but that wasn't the case. He was too intimidating. Even the older ones avoided him. I wasn't as careful; it would be too difficult, what with our rooms across the hall from each other. Sometimes we caught each other going in or out of our respective chambers. Our chance meetings were silent and quick. At most we would have a second's worth of eye contact before we continued on with our business. No other acknowledgement, words, and certainly not any other smiles. Tom didn't smile.

While I pondered him, Alice had risen from her seat. She had regained her haughty composure and seemed ready to properly tell me off. As I pushed my plate away from me, I saw her march my way resolutely. A stab of trepidation coursed through me.

She never reached me. Halfway between her place and mine, she stopped short. She bent over, hands clutching at her middle. She groaned audibly, letting out harsh gasping sounds, her breath sharp and raspy as she hunched over at almost a right angle.

"Alice!" Several others gathered around her, Mrs. Cole at the front. "What is it?"

Alice couldn't speak, though. She just shook her head. "Let's get you to the infirmary, shall we…" someone said, and I saw Alice being hobbled off with Mrs. Cole. I surveyed the hall; no one else was sick like Alice been, and I myself felt fine as well, so it probably hadn't been the meal. Tom alone wasn't bothered by the trouble. He continued to eat, his disinterest unnerving me. Even though everyone was mostly their own roving spheres, save for the few cliques among certain people, we all invested a certain degree of interest in each other, no matter who it was.

"All right, children, that's enough; no need to cause a scene…" came an order. Breakfast was near over anyway, and we all began to disperse. I had nothing to do, so returned to my room. At the end of the hall, Tom stood there, still. When had he made it up the stairs before me? I averted my gaze as I drew nearer and had my hand on the doorknob when I heard him speak to me again.

"Wait."

I did not lower my hand but turned slightly to show him I was listening.

He didn't say anything again, instead coming closer to me. I felt a little prickle inside. My misgivings about Tom were forefront in my mind: Tom was a strange boy. Always by himself, looking unhappy. There were rumors about him...of him scaring other children, doing things to them. I could tell Mrs. Cole was always fretting about him, or over him, or something. Recently I'd heard it had to do with some hanged pet rabbit that had been found in the attic. It scared me just to think about it. He looked at me intensely, his black eyes boring into me. He seemed almost excited, breathless.

"You're the one who made the lamp break," Tom said slowly. "You say you didn't, but you know it was, don't you?"

"I don't know what you mean," I said.

"Nothing else…has ever happened?" His words were ordinary, but his tone was not. I knew what he meant. I didn't like it.

I thought back to two winters ago, when the sidewalk had suddenly frozen under Alice's feet and causing her to slip backward rather ridiculously as we all walked back home from school. And the time our headmaster was ridden with horrible boils, thus relieving me of having to serve out my punishment of writing lines…a punishment administered after I had been blamed for causing a "disturbance" in class by somehow inflating the trousers of my teacher as he gave a lesson. I remembered these events distinctly, clearly, but they…had nothing to do with Tom was saying now.

"Nothing," I said stoutly.

"You're lying," Tom said immediately. "And you know it." His voice lowered to a whisper. "You and I—there's something that goes on—"

"Stop talking like that," I said. "You're not making any sense—" Not wanting to stay in that corridor any longer, I fled down the stairs. I could feel his stare watching be as I descended the steps.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Reviews are always appreciated!**


	2. Part I: Chapter 2 - Cold

**Chapter 2 - Cold**

Wool's wasn't the worst of all places. I thought myself relatively lucky to be here and not on the streets. Mrs. Cole was as nice as I could have hoped for and looked after us well. She remembered all of our birthdays and always have us a small gift when the day came. Nothing fancy, perhaps just a few colored pens to use in our spare time, or a small magnifying glass for the outdoors. None of it was of much substantial use, but we all knew that frugality was of the utmost importance here. The fact that we received anything at all was much appreciated by us all.

We revolved on our own. There were children I was friendly with, but I had no friends. A lot of the orphans were like that, except Tom, who had no friends and wasn't friendly with anyone either. I thought the older ones were a little better off. They had friends at school. But no one ever really was at Wool's too long. People came and went. On the days when visitors arrived, we all wore our best and waited in our rooms, and one by one, Mrs. Cole would introduce us. They'd speak to us for a few minutes, then leave. Some were tactful about disguising their disinterest; others less so. It didn't make a difference to me. I knew I was too timid to like much.

It was easier to endure in the warm months. We could go out into the courtyard for some air. There were a few patches of flowers that we could look after, and sometimes we brought out balls or a skipping rope. When we had something to do, the disappointment wasn't as acute.

But winter was solemn. It was especially cold in the dormitory corridors, where the walls were brick, and not wood like down in the dining hall. We didn't have hearths in our room, so we padded extra towels at the bottom of the doors and windows to block the drafts. A feeling of isolation and loneliness set in upon us. Wool's was...slower during the winter. I noticed fewer visitors called then.

And when there was one lucky child who was selected from our orphanage, the new parents would come, put an arm around their new son or daughter, and the three would leave. Sometimes there would be siblings, and it would be a group of four or five. Before the child was whisked away, we would all gather around for congratulations, or at least some did. Alice certainly was not shy about hiding her resentment, and many of the little ones were simply to small to try. I tried to be happy for whoever it was, but I, too, found it hard to genuinely not feel any bitterness. I was only glad such occasions were rare here.

We were an odd bunch. Some orphans were there because their parents were too poor to keep them on. Others were here because they had run away from their homes. Their parents had lost custody over them for hurting them, or something like that. I didn't really understand it. Most of us were here because our parent were dead. Many had known their parents before arriving at Wool's. Sometimes these children were taken to visit their parents' graves, usually around Christmas. I always counted myself as one of the lucky ones. I figured my parents were dead, though I didn't remember them at all. I had no idea how they had died, either. Mrs. Cole had a big leather-bound volume with all the details she could uncover about any family we orphans had, and the various members'...status. My file was nearly non-existent. No siblings or uncles or aunts or grandparents to speak of. It didn't bother me particularly. I was curious, of course, about my relations, and I wouldn't turn down an invitation to learn more about them. But their mystery never bothered me, at least in the way it seemed to bother Tom.

It seemed all Tom ever wanted to know about was his family. He already knew more than I did, though. His mother was confirmed to be dead; she had died right on the front step of Wool's giving birth to him. Told Mrs. Cole with her last breath that he was to be named after his father, Tom Riddle, Sr.. Ever since he learned this, Tom would spend hours at the library, looking through the dusty archives, trying to find something about his father.

As for me, I didn't care as much. Whoever my parents were, they were gone. I had accepted this a long time ago. No amount of digging through the books would change the fact that I was still alone. They were so distant; I had no memory of them. I didn't need any, nor did I really want any. What I did want was someone to love me and for me to love back. Whether or not we shared any blood meant nothing to me.


	3. Part I: Chapter 3 - An Impossible Answer

**Chapter 3 - An Impossible Answer**

**...**

Tom's words nagged at me for the rest of the day. I didn't like the sound of them. The way he said them; it made me feel..different. That couldn't be, not here.

Mrs. Cole came into my room sometime in the afternoon. "Evelyn, I wanted to tell you: someone is coming to speak to you soon. I believe he will be here tomorrow."

"Who?" I asked immediately. "A man?" I had no family of which I knew; who could it be? "How does he know I'm here?"

"Yes, a man," Mrs. Cole. "No relation, but it is very important that he sees you." She dithered a little, and then admitted, "Tom will be seeing him as well. The man seemed quite intent on the matter."

"But why would he need to talk to Tom as well?" I persisted with my questions.

"I'm not sure," Mrs. Cole said. "But it is very important. See that you are prepared."

_ Prepared for what?_ I wanted know, but Mrs. Cole had already left.

I crossed paths with Tom later that day. He examined me, with that calculating look of his. "Mrs. Cole says someone is coming to talk to us tomorrow," he said.

"Yes," I said. "She told me."

Tom's eyes were burning. "She thinks we're funny. She thinks we're mad. Whoever this man is, he's going to take us away. I know it." He sounded like he said this last part to just himself.

"Tom, what are you saying?" I stammered. "Where could he take us?"

"I don't know!" Tom exclaimed, sounding frustrated. "The country, or an asylum, or somewhere. But we aren't staying here."

"I'm not mad—"

"I know you aren't," Tom said fiercely. "She doesn't agree. And I know we're different, but we're not mad."

"I'm not different either, Tom," I said. "Why do you say such things?"

"You _are_," Tom hissed. "You—" He broke off, too worked up to speak. "You cannot think that you are not, not when—You are different. And you must come to accept it." He was done arguing with me, I saw, and he returned to his room.

* * *

><p>From my window, I could see the man walk up to the door. It was raining, so he was just a gray smudge. Someone was yelling for Mrs. Cole, and I felt a ripple of excitement. He would be here soon.<p>

Footsteps were approaching my room. I got up from where I had been sitting on the bed and pressed myself against the window, gripping the sill. Mrs. Cole's muffled voice came through the door; I heard her stumbling over the man's name before she suddenly poked her head into my room.

"He's speaking with Tom first, then he'll come straight here."

I nodded my agreement, tight-lipped.

"Evelyn, my girl, are you quite all right?"

I smiled. "Quite all right, Mrs. Cole."

"Well, I will leave you to it, then."

I nodded again, but remained on the sill when she had gone. What was happening across the hall, I wondered. More muffled noises, but slightly louder. It sounded like shouting. I remembered the intensity in Tom's gaze when we had met the day before. He had been adamant that the man would be examining us, or we'd be leaving the orphanage. Perhaps he was right, and Tom was putting up a fight in the next room. I wouldn't put it past him.

The noise had died down, but now it was starting back up again. Just for a second. It sounded more like just a shout—not words. My nails scraped against wood of the sill. I told myself to relax, but I couldn't help it. I always had to grip something when I was nervous.

It seemed an eternity later when I finally heard Tom's door move once more. I was seizing up within myself, tightening and twisting. Any moment, my own door would open—

"Ah, hello. You must be Evelyn Spencer."

I stayed stark still at the man, unable to move. If I hadn't suspected what he was here for, I still would have been thrown by him: his appearance was certainly bizarre enough. He sported rich auburn hair, longer than I had ever seen on any respectable-looking man before in my life, and a beard of the same color as well. His face was already lined, suggesting age, but his eyes, blue like mine, were unusually bright and held a mischievous twinkle. A prominent, crooked nose was in between them. My eyes darted to his clothes, a purple suit of velvet. I dared to look back at his face for a moment for a second appraisal and found him smiling at me. I did not return it.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore. Please, I must ask you to sit. Let's have a chat, shall we?" He gestured to the bed, having already taken the sole chair that occupied the room. I was not inclined to move closer to him, but he did not seem as if he would speak unless I did. Reluctantly, I lowered myself onto the end of my bed and forced myself to look at him, folding my hands in my lap. Dumbledore beamed again.

"Very good. Now, as I have said, my name is Albus Dumbledore. I just finished talking with your neighbor from across the hall. Perhaps Mrs. Cole told you that I would be looking in on him as well?"

I did not respond. Dumbledore chuckled. "You two are quite different," he noted. "The boy, he would not stop talking. You are quite the opposite. You are how old, Evelyn?"

"Eleven," I replied. The question was innocent enough, I judged.

"Very good," he said again. "Excellent. Now—this boy, Tom Riddle. Are you friends with him?"

"I would not say that," I said after a moment. "Tom doesn't really have friends. He doesn't speak much with the other orphans."

"But he speaks with you, does he not?"

"Yes, I suppose he does," I admitted.

Dumbledore stood and strode around the room. "And what has he talked to you about lately?" He paused at the rainy window and looked out through the glass, waiting my answer.

I remembered what Tom had told me, of course. But I did not want to say it. "Nothing important," I lied.

Dumbledore resumed his walking and stopped in front of me. "Are you quite sure, Evelyn?" His eyes had lost their geniality and were hard now. "Mrs. Cole told me that an Alice Talbot was burned today by a lamp," he said abruptly. "Alice apparently blamed you for it." He raised his eyebrows at me.

"What do you want me to say about it?" I said, a little too defensively.

"Perhaps…Tom had commented to you about it afterward? What did he say?"

I had taken to worrying the bed post. I looked away from him and instead examined the front of my dress, not wanting to answer. I heard a scrape and knew that Dumbledore had sat down again.

"It is not my wish to frighten you," he said. "I am not a doctor, not a scientist. I am not here to take you to an asylum of any sort."

"Then who are you?" I demanded suddenly, facing him once more. "I want to know who you are before I tell you anything.'

The man seemed surprised, but pleased. "I am a professor. I teach at a school. The reason I am here today is to inform you that you are to be a student of mine there."

"A student?" I repeated. "I'm sorry, Mr. Dumbledore, but you've got it wrong. I already go to a school, here in London. I never applied to any other school."

"You didn't have to," Dumbledore said. "We've had you registered since your birth."

"How could you possibly know that?" I said. "What school is this?"

"Its name is Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You, Evelyn Spencer, are a witch."

Silence.

I stared at him. "I'm—a witch?" Dumbledore nodded. "That's—that's impossible. Witches don't exist."

"They do," Dumbledore corrected me. "I understand this is a shock, but it is the truth. That explosion that burned Alice Talbot. Tom says she had provoked you. You were angry. When young witches and wizards become emotional, they accidentally cause accidents through their magical abilities…does that not help explain anything in your life that has not had an explanation before?"

I felt as if this question had been asked of me so often recently. Now here was a man giving me supposedly the definitive answer to everything…everything that I had wondered about. I looked back at him.

"I can't be a witch, though!" I protested. "I can't go off to this school; the orphanage is all I have."

"You will discover you have much more at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said seriously. "More than you will ever have here."

I resented him for saying so. I didn't want what he was offering, and he didn't know what I had here, either. I wanted to stay here. The orphanage was the only place where I had a chance of being found by a family. Other students and teachers…they weren't family. I didn't reveal any of this, though. "And…you are magic?"

"That I am. Tom was quite eager to see a demonstration; would you care for one?"

"No," I said. "No, I don't want to see any of it."

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "I have told you what I needed to tell you. I will be leaving now." From inside his suit, he retrieved an envelope. "This is for you. It has in it the a note from the deputy headmaster regarding your official placement at Hogwarts, as well as a supplies list for the classes you will be taking and a train ticket. Do not lose it; it is very important. I shall be back within the week to take you to buy your things. I would invite Tom, but he has insisted he take care of himself. In the mean time, this is also for you, for safekeeping also." He set a leather pouch onto the bed. "A bit of money, to help you along. The wizarding world uses a different currency than Muggles, that is, non-magical persons. I doubt you have any wizarding money on hand, so this will be sufficient for now. It is possible we will be able to investigate into your parentage. If they were also magical, they will have had a bank account that is to your disposal."

This was too much. "Mr. Dumbledore, I can't—" I stopped, feeling about to break into tears. "Mr. Dumbledore, I don't want to go to your school; I can't! What am I supposed to do there? I don't want to be different," I cried. "I don't want to be different."

Dumbledore turned. That old smile was back again. "I believe you," he said. "But you aren't alone. You won't be different at Hogwarts."

That wasn't what I meant. I was different in the normal world. Who would adopt me now? Anyone would have to be told the truth. No one would want a girl like me.

There was nothing that could be done, though. Dumbledore was adamant that I'd be going to his school, whether I wanted to or not. I was a witch.


	4. Part I Chapter 4 - Conflict of Curiosity

**Chapter 4 - Conflict of Curiosity**

**...**

I spent the rest of the day alone in my room. There was too much to process and I didn't want to be around anyone else, Tom especially.

A witch?

I stared at myself in the mirror. I had nothing remotely pecuilar to hint at such a possibility. Carefully, I ran my hands over each other. The blue veins stood out glaringly through my skin. What was in their blood that made me a witch, that made Tom a wizard? And there were hundreds more like us. Living somewhere called Hogwarts, learning things I couldn't begin to imagine. How could Tom be so excited about this?

I didn't want to believe it. There was no such thing. If I was a witch, surely I would _know_ that? How could a girl live eleven years of her life and not know that? It was ridiculous, I scoffed to myself. Perhaps with Tom, it was true, I conceded. But not with me. Dumbledore was mistaken...

Only he wasn't. Somewhere inside me, I knew it to be true. No matter how much I didn't want it, it was there.

I looked at my hands again. What were they capable of? I pushed one of them forward experimentally: nothing happened. I wasn't expecting anything, though. Dumbledore had said it was only when we were emotional that we would be triggered. But still…I wanted to know.

I slipped out of my room, giving Tom's a brief glance before heading on my way to the infirmary. The infirmary was a wretched place in the orphanage, or more so than most places, at least. It was a little bigger than my room; I believe it might have been used for an office once. It housed three beds, the same ones that all the orphans slept on normally, each one surrounded by an old curtain. A sink had been installed into the wall, and there was a desk and cupboard in addition to the closet, but nothing more. We didn't even have a proper nurse, only an old book with age old remedies.

I was surprised to find the room empty, since Alice was in one of the beds. Normally there was someone there to watch over the patients. Her curtain was only slightly drawn. She was lying down, arms cushioning her head. She hadn't heard me approach.

"Alice? It's Evelyn."

She turned toward me briefly and then returned to staring up at the ceiling. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to see if—if you were feeling better." I walked closer to her bed. She pointedly shifted to the far side.

Alice snorted. "Get away. I'm resting."

"Do you feel better?" I persisted.

"No."

"Would you like me to help? I can get you a glass of water, perhaps."

"If you want to help, you can leave."

"I know how you are feeling, Alice," I said.

"Why should you care?"

I couldn't answer that. For all she knew, it was just a bad stomachache, but I knew it had something to do with me. But how could I tell this to Alice—?

"That's what I thought," she said. She wasn't going to say anymore, and I left.

* * *

><p>Dinner came and went. Alice remained in the infirmary, to my disappointment. If she had come to the dining hall to eat, I might have believed she was doing better.<p>

I cast a sideways look over to Tom. He was not looking at me, as I thought he might have been. But when I stood, he did too. I felt his eyes on my back as I went up the stairs.

On the landing, I nearly ran into Mrs. Cole. She was carrying a laundry basket full of linens, coming from, what looked like, the infirmary.

"Oh, sorry, Mrs. Cole," I apologized.

"Nothing to worry about, Evelyn," she replied and made to go down the stairs.

"Is Alice..." I motioned with my hands.

Mrs. Cole appraised me and then sighed. "I'm afraid not. She's in quite a bit of pain with her stomach, just lying there. I'm jiggered to find out what's the matter with her." She sighed again. "We may need to bring in a doctor to have him take a look at her." Mrs. Cole shook her head worriedly and moved along.

I stayed rooted on the landing. If anything, Alice had worsened.

A throat was cleared behind me, and I jumped. I had almost forgot Tom was there. I turned to face him, disheartened.

"Dumbledore, he told you, didn't he?" Tom asked. I nodded. "Well, what are you looking so miserable for then?"

I swallowed. "I don't want it," I whispered. "You heard Mrs. Cole; Alice can't even move. Now they'll have to bring a real doctor in. The orphanage doesn't have the kind of money!" I averted my eyes and stared down at the floor. "All it's doing is hurting people. I don't want to hurt anyone."

"I didn't think you were so daft," Tom said disbelievingly. "You learn to control it at Hogwarts. Dumbledore said so. Besides, at the beginning of next month we'll be gone. Forget about Alice. She's a waste."

Gone. Away from the orphanage, away from everyone else.

Tom scowled at my continued doubt. "That's not an improvement?"

I shook my head. "No—no, it's not. I want..." I looked at him. Who knew if Tom would be able to understand? Whenever people came, he was always surly or solemn. He didn't smile when people gushed over his comeliness, and when they left having confided in Mrs. Cole that they wanted a child who wasn't him, he never was the sorrier. He didn't seem to want a family at all.

* * *

><p>On Saturday, Dumbledore was back. I met him in the foyer with the envelope he had given me. I hadn't touched it since, hadn't looked at any of its papers.<p>

"Good morning, Evelyn," he said when I approached him. "Are you ready?"

"I suppose," I said, and went through the door that he held open. We didn't speak on our walk to the Tube. He knew I was still wary of him. The fact that I was was confusing. If he was not magic, he would have been perfectly pleasant. I had gathered that he was kind, gentle, and soft. But there was so much potential in him. It put me off, imagining what things he was capable of.

"You're still not accepting of magic, I see," Dumbledore said casually. We were descending underground now.

I jumped, luckily not slipping on the steps. "How do you know?" I asked, guarded.

"It's not that difficult to tell," he said.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I can't help it. And Tom, he thinks it's all so wonderful. He doesn't understand."

Dumbledore didn't pry as we boarded a train to Charing Cross Road. Rush hour had passed already, and the carriage only had a few people in it, for which I was grateful. Dumbledore was dressed even more oddly today, having traded his velvet suit for robes of midnight blue today. I sat hoping to block his appearance and dissuade the strangers from giving us looks, but he was much bigger than I was. I couldn't do much about it.

"Ah! Here we are," Dumbledore exclaimed after a few stops. "Follow me from here on out, Evelyn."

I did as I was told. As we climbed the stairs back to the surface, I felt my heart beat faster with a mix of apprehension and anticipation. We were passing all of the shops that I had seen before, but one of them must have been the one Dumbledore was looking for. He finally stopped and pointed in between a book shop and record store.

"Notice that pub, Evelyn, in between these two stores." He nodded towards where I should be looking. I recognized the place vaguely, from the store front, but only now just read the lettering above the door: The Leaky Cauldron. It was shabbier than its neighbors, a little run-down.

"This is…?" I began questioningly.

"Your access point to Diagon Alley from Muggle London," Dumbledore said, starting to walk toward it. "You'll want to remember this place for the coming years."

I looked around. "Why doesn't anyone else go in?" I asked, catching up to Dumbledore.

"Wizarding buildings that are built in the Muggle world have enchantments placed upon them so Muggles don't see them," Dumbledore explained. "Either that, or they don't see them for what they really are. The ruins of an old construction sight, or a particularly ominous alley-way, perhaps. Ah, now here we are." I followed him into the pub.


End file.
